After Thanksgiving
by SomewhereApart
Summary: Calleigh and Eric have a Thanksgiving tradition. This year tradition may lead to something new.


It was fast becoming tradition, this post-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving. Eric spent the day with his family, being clucked over by grandparents, climbed over by nieces and nephews, and coolly questioned by his mother. "When are you going to bring a nice girl home, mijo?" she would ask him. "When are you going to give me nietos like your sister?" Normally he groaned and avoided, but this year he'd smiled and told her that she could hurry the process along if she sacrificed one of her pumpkin pies again.

She'd really jumped on him then, wanting to know who it was that had won over her baby boy's heart. But Eric refused to tell, answering only that he was still trying to reel her in, but she sure did love his mama's pumpkin pie. Of course, this was the third year he'd made off with a take-home plate of pie, so his mama just smiled and answered her own question: "Calleigh."

"You bring her next year," she insisted. "Tell her she can have all the pie she wants then."

Eric knew it wasn't likely, not as long as Calleigh's father was in Miami, but he didn't want to disappoint his mother, so he just nodded and said he'd try. And now he was in Calleigh's kitchen, taking the cellophane wrapping off a plate with two generous slices of pie while Calleigh poured them each a glass of wine.

"Did she send the whipped cream, too?" Calleigh asked as she headed to the table with two full goblets, already taking a sip of her own. The Duquesne Thanksgiving was a dry one now that her father was sober again, and every year she was the first to reach for the wine as soon as Eric arrived. He wondered if she felt like she missed out on the festivities by playing watchdog with her father; asking probably wouldn't be the best plan.

"Of course she did," Eric assured, reaching into the plastic bag he'd pulled the plate from to retrieve the container of homemade whipped cream. "She likes you, y'know."

Calleigh shook her head, and made a face, but he could tell by the grin she couldn't quite suppress that she'd appreciated the news. "We've barely met."

"I think she thinks you keep me in line," he smirked, covering her pie in whipped cream before settling into the chair next to hers and picking up his glass of wine for a slow sip. Calleigh didn't drink much, but when she did, she didn't pick the cheap stuff. He wasn't exactly a wine guy, but for Calleigh's collection, he'd make the exception.

"Well, she may be right on that one. I sometimes feel like the den mother in that lab, wrangling all my ornery CSI boys." Calleigh spooned up the first bite, and – God help him – actually closed her eyes and moaned softly at the taste. Eric decided she really needed to not do that around him if she didn't want him to think of about twelve other fun ways that could use that whipped cream.

"Ornery, huh?" Eric took another bite of pie – his third slice of the day, now, but Calleigh didn't like eating alone.

She quirked a brow and swallowed the pie. "You're going to question that? Do I have to remind you of all the times I had to play referee between you an Ryan?"

Eric shrugged, sipped his wine. "Guess not. But you haven't seen ornery until you've seen a Cuban mother trying to herd her three kids. I thought my sister's head was going to explode today. My nephew is finally old enough to get into absolutely everything when no one is looking."

Calleigh smiled at him, but he noticed it didn't quite reach her eyes. That hadn't been uncommon in recent weeks, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. He wished she'd just let herself open up to someone. He'd suggested she meet with a therapist after the incident with Campbell, but she'd insisted that no, she was fine, he shouldn't worry. It had just worried him more.

They lapsed into a few moments of comfortable silence, both of them taking small scoops of pie – Eric to pace himself, Calleigh to make her slice last longer. In an attempt to get every last bit, she'd taken to swiping her tongue across the bowl of the spoon in a way that made him swallow hard and think of the twelve-ways-whipped-cream-fantasy that he would be taking home later and entertaining until he was embarrassed to look at her the next day. But hell, it was a holiday, and there was so much of Calleigh to be thankful for.

"How was your day?" he asked finally, breaking the silence. "Was it just you and your dad?"

"Yeah, we ate here. I cooked a hen and a couple of potatoes; it was all very festive."

"Don't you ever wish you could go home?" he asked suddenly, the thought of Thanksgiving-for-two making him feel incredibly lonely by proxy. He couldn't imagine the holidays being anything but loud and crowded.

"Yeah," she answered thoughtfully, catching a dent of whipped cream on the end of her spoon and lifting it to her mouth to flick it off with her tongue. Eric shifted and tried to think of something else. Baseball. Pie. Her father. That one worked wonders. "But Dad doesn't really have anywhere else here that he can go and not feel tempted. And he looks forward to Thanksgiving – we both do. If I get really busy, we can go months without having dinner or seeing each other at all. Especially now that… now that I'm not getting called to pick him up all the time."

"How long has he been sober?" He always felt a twinge of nerves in his gut when they talked about her father's drinking. He never knew when she might simply decide the conversation was off limits.

"This time? About eight months. Assuming…" She shook her head, and took a swig of wine, swallowing it like it was bitter.

Still, he pressed. "Assuming?"

"He's an alcoholic, Eric. He's gotten good at being sober every time I see him, and then all of a sudden, I get that call… 'Come get your father, please, he's been cut off. He's been here every night this week, just thought you should know.'" Her mouth drew into a tight line as she speared her spoon into her pie again. He could see the disappointment on her face, and it mad him ache for her. "I hate those calls," she murmured quietly into the space between them. "It's humiliating. Having to leave work, drive across town to pick him up. I mean, you expect to tell your kids they can call you anytime, but he's my dad. He's the dad. And I feel like I've been parenting him since I was twelve. Ever since he moved here… He just tries so hard, and it's heartbreaking. He wants to get better, he wants to work things out with my mom, but he just can't. He just can't stay sober. And it's gotten harder and harder to trust him. He's lied to me about his drinking before, and when he's lying really well, he lies _really well_, and it just makes things harder between us." She stopped suddenly, and frowned, reaching for her wine again. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling. You don't want to hear about this."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Eric suggested, taking another bite and studying how weary and defeated her eyes had become. He wished he could make it better for her; wished he could tell her that without it sounding sappy.

"Well, I don't want to talk about it anymore," she replied succinctly. And the conversation was officially over. "Tell me more about your nephew. How old is he now? Three?"

Topic effectively changed, they chatted about his family for a few minutes while he watched the way her mouth moved when she ate. She licked delicately at the spoon again, and he shook his head at her. "Cal, you've gotta stop licking your spoon like that."

When she frowned, almost a pout, and asked him why, he just looked at her and raised his eyebrows. A moment later, the color flushed into her cheeks and he smirked and scooped another spoonful of his pie. "Eric," she chided, her voice equal parts amused and embarrassed. He liked it; she was so hard to throw most of the time.

"Hey, I'm not the one fellating a spoon," he teased, still smirking at her.

"I was not… fellating!" She blushed deeper and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "And you shouldn't think that way."

"Cal, any guy with eyes would think that way."

"Yeah?" He grunted an affirmative around a mouthful of pie, watching her nudge hers with her spoon. "You sure its not just because you want to… settle down with me?"

Eric almost choked in mid-swallow, and flicked his attention back to her face. She'd gone all shy on him now, her head ducked slightly as if she was focused on the pie. Her eyes were on him though, peeking up through her lashes with a vulnerability he was unaccustomed to seeing from Calleigh Duquesne. Was she actually going to talk to him about this? About this thing between them? Eric wondered briefly if they were bobsledding in hell. "Hmm?"

"I did read your file that day." She was still pushing the pie around on her plate. Eric wondered if she was doing it because she was nervous or because she didn't want to send his brain back in the gutter. "I was kind of hoping that you'd say something when I asked you if it mattered. A girl doesn't ask a question like that if…" She trailed off, shook her head, carved another bite out of her pie.

"If what?"

She swallowed, ignored the bit of cream that still clung to the spoon. "If she doesn't already think she knows the answer?"

"Then why ask?"

"Because I wanted you to tell me," she told him as their eyes met again. "Not a file. I wanted to hear it from you."

Well, fuck. Did that mean that if he'd just manned up two months ago, he could have had her? Could have tucked himself into her bed at night instead of some dingy hotel? Stolen kisses from her in the lab? Been there for her when she was hurting over Campbell? Eric cursed the impulse that had kept his mouth shut that day. Should have just thrown propriety and pride to the wind and risked it. Figuring it was better late than never, he slid his hands over and laced their fingers, waiting while her gaze flicked to their joined hands, then back to his face before he told her, "I'm in love with you, Calleigh."

And then she took a deep breath, eased her hand away and spooned up a huge mouthful of pie.

"You asked me to tell you," he pointed out, suddenly nervous. Hadn't that been what she wanted? Hadn't she just told him that she'd wanted him to tell her? So help him God, if she-

"Yes. I did." Eric's heart slid back down his throat and settled comfortably behind his ribs. "Just… Eric, I don't know yet. I don't know what I… want."

"Okay." He wasn't quite sure what else to say to her.

"I know that…" She took another deep breath, and spoke to her pie instead of him. "I know that I have feelings for you – really, really strong feelings. And I've had them for a while. But I don't know… I guess I'm just…" She was scribbling an anxious pattern in the crumbs on the edge of her plate. "I'm just afraid that if we date and something goes wrong, we'll lose our friendship too, and I can't. I just can't, Eric. I can't do this if it means I might not be able to see you, to work with you, to call you at midnight when I'm lonely. To eat pie with you in my kitchen at 10PM on Thanksgiving."

She'd finally looked up at him then, and he was struck by how much he almost didn't recognize this Calleigh. Vulnerable, and nervous, and unsure. None of those were words one normally used to describe CSI Calleigh Duquesne, but here she was, fiddling anxiously with a spoon and telling him she was scared of this. Of them. If it was possible, he fell even more in love with her.

"I'm not going to mess this up," he tried to assure her. "You can trust me."

"This isn't a trust issue."

"Are you sure? Because we were just talking about-"

"So help me God, Eric, if you bring up my father right now, I will pull out my gun and shoot you."

He could tell she was serious, but he couldn't fight the smirk. "Alright then. I know you don't trust many people."

"I don't."

"But you trust me?" It was more of a statement than a question; their trust had been one of the most constant, solid things in either of their lives for years now.

"Completely."

It didn't matter how many times she said it, it still warmed him that her trust in him was so unwavering. He wasn't sure quite how it worked, but knowing she trusted him helped him to trust himself on those days when his injuries made him slip or question. If she could trust in him, then he was trustworthy, and if he was trustworthy, they would be fine. "Then let me worry about us, okay? Let me worry about you. It's okay for someone to worry about you, Calleigh, and it's okay for someone to get under your skin a little. It's okay for you to worry about what will happen if things go badly, but that's no reason not to try. What if we take this to the next level, and it's the best thing that's happened to either of us? What if this is _it_?"

She fidgeted, spooned up the last bite of pie, and he wondered if he'd gone too far. Giving her a moment, he looked away and reached for his wine. A few cool sips did little to quell the anxious burn in his stomach. "I can't think that far ahead right now," she told him. "I don't even know if I believe in _it_."

"Then don't think that far ahead," he reasoned, sliding his hand over again so he could run the tip of his finger along the backs of hers. "Just think about right now. What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"Wish I had more pie," she answered quickly, before she cracked a smile and chuckled.

A grin split Eric's face and he shook his head at her before insisting, "I mean it. If I kissed you, right now, what would you want? What would you do?

He watched her swallow nervously, and when she pressed her lips together he wondered if she was playing the scenario in her brain. He certainly had plenty of times. Finally, she answered, "I don't know."

The undercurrent of invitation in her voice bolstered his courage just enough for him to lean in closer and ask, "Why don't we find out?" When her only reply was to slide her gaze to his lips as her tongue darted out to lick her own, Eric closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to hers.

Her lips slid almost hesitantly against his again before he sucked gently at her lower lip and earned himself a soft gasp. Never one to resist an opportunity, Eric deepened the kiss, his tongue dipping against hers. She tasted like spice and cream and Calleigh, and Eric wanted more, wanted hotter and more insistent, so he slid one hand up into her hair and urged her even closer. The soft, pleased sound she made pinballed through him and made him feel more at ease with her than he had in months. This, he understood. This didn't make him feel uneasy or off his game. This _was_ his game.

But she was unsure, he remembered, so he broke the kiss slowly, pressed his forehead to hers and caught his breath. "So? What do you think?"

"I'm not thinking again yet," she murmured, and he considered it a definite point in his favor that she had done nothing to put any distance between them.

"Mm. Take your time."

"Don't be smug," Calleigh scolded playfully, lips curving slightly before she leaned in for one more quick peck. Then, much to his disappointment, she eased back, putting distance between them again and reaching for her wine. She watched him as she sipped, and Eric just hoped he didn't look as desperately hopeful as he felt. As first kisses went, that had been a damned good one, and if she gave him the brush off, he might have no choice but to embarrass himself by begging her to just give him a damned chance – or at least another kiss for the road. "You really think we can make it work?"

"Yeah, Cal, I do." The breath he hadn't realized he was holding released on a sigh, and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear again.

"I'm not always an easy person to be with…"

"Calleigh, I know you. I know you a lot better than some of the guys you've dated probably did." His fingers grazed down her neck and she shivered slightly, thrilling him. What else could he make her do with just the brush of his fingertips, he wondered. What would she do if he kept touching her, what would she sound like, how would she look? "Just trust me, okay? Just trust _us_. We've always been good, haven't we?"

"Yeah..." Her teeth caught her lower lip for a moment as she studied him, searching for something. Eric had no idea what she was looking for, but she must have found it, because she took a deep, steadying breath and nodded resolutely. "Yes. We have. So let's… let's do this. Let's try."

The anxious knots in his stomach turned to excited tremors as he threaded his fingers into her hair again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes."

And then she smiled at him, and he couldn't wait any longer, fusing their mouths again, dipping his tongue in to taste Calleigh and pie and wine, and the heady, intoxicating taste of "finally."


End file.
